


Be With You Through The Dark (So That You Do Not Go Through The Dark Alone)

by sterlingstars



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Foggy, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, College, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Matt is jealous and territorial poor thing, Mutual Pining, Omega Matt, Omega Verse, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Matt, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, this is set during law school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:49:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5393165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterlingstars/pseuds/sterlingstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Matt stumbles into his dorm room at Columbia to find he has an alpha roommate, he's initially pretty worried. Five minutes later, Foggy Nelson is his best friend. Friendship comes easy, but when Matt starts feeling territorial (and really, there's no other word for it) things get... complicated. But a slip-up leads to something much better than Matt expected, and not all fairy tales start off easy, but everyone has to start somewhere, right? Maybe something good can come out of this, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be With You Through The Dark (So That You Do Not Go Through The Dark Alone)

**Author's Note:**

> This is... really self-indulgent. This is one of my grosser kinks, I guess you'd say, but there was no resisting, once I got the idea in my head. I hope you all enjoy this as much as I do. It was fun to write!

He can smell it before he walks in the room. 

Alpha. His roommate is an alpha. The scent is unmistakable, potent, and Matt's body immediately responds to it. It's subtle, because he takes strong suppressants, and he's been on them for a long time, but he still has a reaction. As soon as he opens the door, the scent hits him, and his eyes widen, unbidden, and he's glad for the dark glasses he's wearing. 

But somehow, some way, their meeting is not at all what he expects. Foggy is nice, and sweet, and funny, and even if he makes a pass at Matt within the first few sentences, it's nice and not overbearing, and he stutters over it. It's... cute. When they shake hands, Foggy's is warm and soft, and Matt finds himself smiling.

Apparently, it's not much of an issue that he's an omega. Foggy knows he's on suppressants, tells Matt how he takes some, himself.

“Too much nonsense to go along with all the biology crap,” he explains. “I don't feel the need to broadcast all of my hormones to everyone at every second of the day, if you get me. It's just easier that way. But I'm sure you get that.”

And just like that, Foggy Nelson becomes his best friend.

He's different, from all the other people Matt's been around. He's nice, and funny, but the most important part is that he doesn't treat Matt like glass. Most people look at Matt like he's helpless- being an omega gets him that enough, but his blindness on top of it? They walk around him like a strong breeze will shatter him, always so careful, so extra gentle when they don't need to be, like he's delicate. He hates that, more than anything else. But Foggy? 

Foggy's nothing like that. He treats Matt like a regular person, regardless of his biology or his disability. It's so nice, to be treated like he's capable, for once, and Matt clings to it, clings to Foggy, because he's sweet, and helpful, and he always knows how to make Matt laugh, and reminds him when he needs to eat- and how long has it been since Matt has had someone help look after him so well without being overbearing? 

It's a breath of fresh air, and their first year at Columbia passes with complete and total ease. Matt loves Foggy- he's never felt so close to someone since his father died, and it's obvious that Foggy feels the same. 

It's good. Better than good, really- it's perfect. Matt couldn't have asked for a better way for things to turn out. An alpha roommate who's not a jerk about being an alpha? Someone who laughs at his stupid blind jokes and doesn't act like he's a baby because he can't see? Oh, Matt's hit the jackpot, here, and he knows it.

Of course, that's when it starts to get complicated.

They're in their second year of law school. Three months into the semester, and things are going pretty well. Foggy still sucks at Punjabi, Matt still laughs at him for it, they go through their classes, they hang out. All of the good, usual, amazing stuff. 

And then they start dating.

Matt... doesn't exactly date. He discovered in high school that he's not so great at the whole relationship thing, and he's really accepted it by this point. He finds himself some nice beta girls, a few beta boys, and he has his fun. It's all good, all nice. He sometimes finds himself wishing for a little more, but whenever he tries, it doesn't end all that well. So, he sticks to his flings, and it works out nicely for him.

There's one alpha girl, Elektra, who takes him for a wild ride for a while, but like the others, she's gone soon enough. Matt takes it with grace, smiles sheepishly and blushes whenever Foggy teases him about his string of lovers. 

Foggy starts dating, too. There's a boy- his name is Mark. He's a sweet beta, shy and soft and nice, and he's in Matt's Spanish class with him. They've talked before, worked on a few things together, and are friendly in passing.

Which is why Matt is stunned when he bares his teeth after smelling him on Foggy.

He comes in the door, and it's late, but that's not the part that bothers Matt. He's sitting at his desk, fingers going over one of the novels Foggy got him for Christmas the year before, and he finds his back going rigid as soon as Foggy walks in. He's humming a little under his breath, happy. He's got a bounce in his step, and he hums a little louder as he unloads, tossing his things into their places.

“Hey, Matty,” he says brightly. “How's the studying going?”

“Uh, it's uh... it's the book you got me, actually.” He gives a small smile. “I wanted to read it again.”

He senses Foggy flush a little with pleasure, and he smiles a little wider. Foggy stretches, though, and then the smell hits him.

He had sex with Mark.

Before Matt can really begin to process that statement, his lips pull back in a snarl, his teeth bared. He hunches his shoulders a little, one hand forming a fist, the nails digging into the meat of his palm, and he's breathing heavily. 

“Matt, you okay over there?”

Matt snaps to attention, shoulders straightening. 

“Uh... yeah,” he manages to push out, brow furrowed. 

Foggy hums a little in answer, and gathers clothes into his arms, heading for the door. 

“I'm gonna go grab a shower. I shouldn't be long. Just... are you sure you're good?”

“Yeah,” Matt says. “I'm good.”

“Okay, buddy.”

He leaves, and as soon as the door shuts, Matt is up and out of his chair, teeth bared again. He storms over to Foggy's side of the room, and snatches his jacket off the bedpost where he hung it. He brings the material to his face and inhales. Underneath the Foggy smell that's threaded through the fabric- past the detergent and coffee he had this morning and sandwich crumbs from his lunch- is the stench of sex, the reek of _someone else's sex_ , on Foggy's jacket.

He actually verbally snarls, then, and throws the jacket down, shaking a little. 

There's something so fundamentally _wrong_ about this- and Matt's not sure why, he can't place it, but it's there. He hates it, and if he had hackles, they would definitely be raised right now. He feels defensive, jittery, like a dog who has an intruder in their yard. The smell is glaringly obvious now, and Matt runs back across the room to open the window near his bed. 

He inhales the cool air like his life depends on it, washing the scent of Mark out of his nose. He's still shaking, gasping, trying to bring as many lungfuls of the uncontaminated air as he can. He leans against the sill, pushing his hair back from his forehead, and tries to settle his jangled nerves. Obviously, this is a problem. 

But he can fix this. He can. He can pretend it never happened. If Foggy asks what the weird mood was about when he comes back, Matt can rattle off an excuse about a stressful scene in the book, or maybe say he just suddenly remembered he was worried about some Spanish vocabulary he hadn't quite nailed yet. Either way, he could and would pretend that this didn't just happen, because this was a problem.

Foggy wasn't _his_. They were roommates, best friends, sure- but Foggy was still his own person, and he didn't owe anything to Matt. If he wanted to have sex with his perfectly nice boyfriend, it wasn't Matt's place to get riled up over it. Right? Right. It was inappropriate on a few levels, and it didn't need to happen again. 

Maybe, he reasoned, it was just how foreign it was. Matt wasn't used to these kinds of scents on Foggy- it was a disruption in the palette he'd come to associate with his friend and their room. He reasoned that, perhaps, this was a normal reaction after all, and he totally wasn't going off the deep end here. 

He had to believe it was that, because if it wasn't... this was weird. Again- it's not like Foggy belonged to him. Sure, they were alpha and omega, but they were unbonded. There was nothing there between them to give Matt the right to feel so... territorial.

Oh, God help him, he was being territorial. He'd literally acted like a dog who had a stranger walk through their yard. He frowns deeply, resting his forehead against the cool glass of the window, and forces himself to take a deep breath. He could work through this. It was just one time, after all. Maybe it wouldn't happen again. 

Foggy comes back ten minutes later, and Matt sighs in relief when he smells like himself. He's not sure if he could handle Foggy still smelling like Mark, really. He puts that thought away, though, and gives Foggy a soft smile.

Foggy puts his shower things away and tucks his dirty laundry into his basket before splaying out on his bed. He smells like his shampoo, and the shower water from the bathroom, and Matt is relieved. 

“Dude, I had a great night,” Foggy says from his bed.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. Between me and you- I totally got laid, man.”

Matt swallows. “Well, congratulations are in order.”

“Stop me if I go too far, but it was pretty good,” Foggy says. “Mark gives really good blowjobs. I'm impressed.”

Matt stops himself from saying he's sure he can give better ones. “I'm sure.”

“But you know what else I am? Tired. I'm gonna call it a night.” He yawns, and Matt can hear as he stretches and crawls under his blankets. “Goodnight, Matty.”

“Goodnight, Foggy.”

Matt curls into a ball under his own blankets, clenching his fists. His mouth arranges itself into a snarl again, and he furrows his brow. He pushes it back, clenches his fists harder and forces himself to breathe. Foggy's not his. Foggy's not his. He repeats this to himself like a mantra, slowly easing himself into a more relaxed position.

Foggy sleeps on, content and oblivious, as a small storm rages inside of Matt.

+

Foggy and Mark date for two months. They have a lot more sex, and every time Foggy comes home with the scent clinging to his skin, Matt feels like an animal, wanting to snarl and bite and wrap himself around Foggy.

And, well, that's a bit of a problem.

He gets better and better at hiding it, at pushing down the reactions. And he feels terrible when he gets nothing but relief when Foggy tells him they broke up. Matt is a good friend, and he comforts him, helps him get a little drunk and forget about it for a little while. He makes all the appropriate soothing noises, says all the right things about how it's Mark's loss (which it is), but on the inside, he's dancing with joy. He won't have to smell the beta on Foggy anymore- won't have to spend half an hour at his window trying to drown the scent of some other man's sex out of his lungs.

But Foggy's okay after a little while, and Matt is more than okay. He tries not to think about that too much, though. 

Life goes on. They go through their classes, finals happen, Christmas happens, and then they're in a new semester. Things seem to be looking up for Matt and Foggy, and he's pleased. They're both in the top ranks of their class, impressing classmates and professors alike. It's good. Normal. They both have a few hookups on the in-between, but never make it back to the dorm to smell it on each other. Matt gives a boy a blowjob at a party and tries not to imagine that it's Foggy. You know- the usual. 

Junior year slams into them, and things get a little more intense with their classes and their workload, but they're working through it. They're rooming again, because there's really no other way to do it, at this point. It's good. Matt's happy and thriving, and he's proud of himself.

And then Marci Stahl walks into Foggy's life. 

Marci is a force of nature- sharp, lethal. She's one of the top in the class, and Matt's listened to her scathing debate skills with unadulterated awe many times. He's always admired her obvious skill, her quick thinking.

But then she starts dating Foggy.

It's a little strange, considering she's an alpha herself, but such a thing isn't unheard of. Still, when they're together, their scent is strong, overpowering, and Matt chokes on it. His body tries its damnedest to response, aching to get under the hands of the alphas. He resists, but some days just barely, and it grates on his nerves. He doesn't want to be a slave to his biology, but damn, do they make it hard.

And she does these... displays. Matt knows she does it on purpose. She rubs herself all over Foggy, and her scent is buried in his clothes, his hair... Matt keeps his window open a lot. It's obvious that she's marking her territory, here. Whether it's specifically to piss off Matt or just to make sure the entire fucking campus knows that Foggy's off-limits, Matt can't be sure; but either way, he's suffering for it, and it's hell.

He spends a lot of time away from the room, from the scent of Marci. He goes to the gym, the library, anywhere- to get away from it, and stay away. He works out his frustration on the punching bags and transfers some of the leftover rage into his studies. At least his grades benefit from it. But that's about the only thing. 

He tries to avoid Marci as much as possible. Unfortunately, she likes to be around Foggy as much as she can, which means he sees a lot of her. It's maddening. Matt's being driven up the wall. Every time he smells her perfume, he wants to growl. The sound of Foggy's name coming out of her mouth- and the sickeningly sweet way she says Foggy-bear, so syrupy- makes him want to bare his teeth and just fight her. 

Because he's a good friend, and a decent person, however, he does _not_ fight Marci. And despite how much he dislikes her, and how much she gets on his nerves, she does actually make Foggy happy. No matter how much he wants to drag Marci out of his space by her throat, he won't allow himself to do so, because if she makes Foggy happy... well, he can't take that away. He's smitten, and he really likes her, and even though she annoys the shit out of Matt, she's good to Foggy. That's important.

He sucks it up and takes it like a good boy.

Things take a turn for the worst for Matt, eventually. It always seems to end up this way. God has a really cruel sense of humor. He'll still go to church this week to pay his dues, but he is not going to be happy about it. 

Because he nearly walks in on Marci and Foggy fucking.

He should have known much, much sooner, before he got to the door- but it's cold outside, and his face is wrapped in a scarf, and he's conjugating verbs for Spanish in his head, and he's also tired, and it's just a really bad combination. He gets in front of the door and lowers the scarf from his mouth, fishing in his pocket for his keys, when he hears it.

There is the undeniable sound of Foggy moaning- Christ, he's _moaning_ \- and the mattress shifting in a very distinct rhythm. Marci's panting, Foggy keeps moaning... and then the smell hits him. 

The first thing he gets is Marci, and it makes him want to growl like an animal. But behind that, beyond her- he smells Foggy. Most importantly- he smells Foggy _having sex_. Holy shit. The pheromones... it's nothing but pure alpha scent- raw, unfiltered. He can smell Foggy's pre-cum, his sweat, and he's dizzy with it. Matt braces himself against the wall, breathing hard, and is suddenly aware that his underwear is wet.

Well, hell.

He takes off running, bolting down the hall and the stairs, taking them two at a time. He's so glad they only live on the second floor, and makes a break out the front door of the hall. He heads for the library, and as soon as he gets there, he locks himself in the bathroom and slides down against the door, onto the floor. His breathing is ragged, pulse jagged and jumping in his throat, and he's so hard he's throbbing.

“Fuck,” he gasps, tossing his scarf onto the floor.

It's too hot, suddenly- he practically rips his coat off, his gloves. He pulls off his sweater so he's just in the t-shirt beneath. He pushes his sweaty hair off of his forehead and forces himself to breathe. His underwear is soaked- he's practically sitting in a puddle of his own slick, flushed and panting. 

He wants to finger himself so badly- he whines a little in the back of his throat, hands clenched into tight fists. He breathes hard through his nostrils, willing himself to calm down a little bit, but his body is determined to get an orgasm out of this, it seems. 

He unbuttons his jeans and hisses as his hand meets his cock. It throbs in his hand, the tip slick with pre-cum, and he strokes, gasping. It feels so good- too good- and he comes in under a minute, trembling and open-mouthed, his eyes wide under his glasses. 

It takes him ten minutes to find the strength in his legs to stand. With shaking hands, he cleans himself up, and walks out of the library as fast as he can, red-faced with shame and the ebbing pleasure of what he would call a rather explosive orgasm. By the time he makes it back to the room, Marci and Foggy are gone, but the room reeks of sex. His cock twitches in his pants already, and he's getting slick again. He slumps against the side of his bed, flushed.

He is totally and utterly fucked.

+

That weekend, Foggy goes home to see his parents. He tries to convince Matt to come, but he waves him off, because he really needs to study for Spanish and finish an essay for his ethics class. Next weekend, he promises. He asks Foggy to give his parents his love, and that's that.

Except, it really, really isn't.

Matt doesn't get heats. Ever since he had his first one when he was younger, he immediately put a stop to them. He takes strong suppressants, and birth control, and everything else, to avoid having heats. It's too distracting, and what he remembers of the first one is nothing but sensory overload and being completely overwhelmed, and he wants absolutely no part in that. 

He does, however, get ghost heats. This is normal, he knows, because there's only so much that even suppressants can do for him, unfortunately. It's like the tease of a heat hat never really comes, and it's just annoying enough that it makes him edgy for a few days while it happens. And in the recent years, he's gotten a lot better at controlling how they effect him. He manages it rather well, and he hasn't been too harshly effected for a very long time. But of course, that's all going to shit, which is just why he happily sent Foggy to see his parents by himself. 

Matt needs to sweat this one out the old-fashioned way, and he doesn't need Foggy to be here to see it.

He finishes his ethics essay in record time, and as soon as he hits send, he dives onto his bed, his clothes flying in every direction. His skin is itchy and irritated, and the silk of his sheets is comforting enough, but does very little to help, really. Only one way to settle this, he knows.

Matt grabs the box out from under his bed, hands shaking slightly. He pulls out his favorite things- a cock ring, and a very large, flexible dildo with a nice, fat knot at the bottom.

He has his guilty pleasures. Really he generally uses these things for the hell of it, for the sensation, but right now, he finds that he needs it. The sight of the knot at the end of the dildo actually makes his mouth water, and the towel he's put beneath his hips is already catching a bounty of slick that's coating the inside of his thighs. He puts the cock ring on, hissing a little, and takes a deep breath, readying himself.

He's soaked as he touches his finger to himself, and Matt gasps as he circles his entrance, the sensation light but very much present. He teases a little more, finger going in a neat little circle, until he can't take it anymore, and pushes in. It goes in like it was meant to be there, and Matt groans, face already scarlet with his arousal and embarrassment. 

He pushes his finger further in, and before he knows it, he's fingering himself in earnest, mouth hanging open as he just moans, loudly and steadily. He adds a second finger, and it goes in like nothing. He's whining, writhing, hips moving as he fucks himself on his fingers. All he can smell is his slick, the sounds of his slicked fingers and unhinged moans filling the room. 

His moans are high and desperate, whiny, just on the edge of breathless. He's already lost to the pleasure, face flushed and fingers pumping in and out of himself like his life depends on it. It's so much, but not even close to what he needs.

He's got four fingers in what feels like record time, and God help him, it's not enough, not enough, he needs _more_ \- and he reaches for the dildo, whining high in his throat. He gasps at the loss of his fingers, but immediately pushes the head of the dildo in, replacing them. He gasps, gritting his teeth, and slowly pushes it further in, stopping above the knot. He has just enough patience to wait for that one.

He starts thrusting it, moaning loudly. His hips buck, and he's clutching the sheets with his other hand, arching off the bed a little. He reaches next to him for the object on his pillow, turning redder by the second.

It's one of Foggy's shirts. Soft, cotton, worn down from a few years of wearing. It smells just like Foggy, because he wore it the day before, and Matt actually moans as he brings the fabric to his nose, inhaling Foggy's scent deeply. His soap, shampoo, even his sweat- mixed with his more primal scent, his alpha smell that attracts Matt like a beacon. 

He keeps it held to his nose, inhaling as he fucks himself incoherent with the dildo. His hips are bucking wildly, and he's moaning into Foggy's shirt. He feels the knot at the base of the dildo brush his stretched hole, and he can't take it anymore. He slows down, and starts to work it in, crying out. This is it- this is what he's been craving, desperate, for weeks now. 

“F-foggy,” he moans as he starts to work the knot. “Foggy, Foggy, Foggy, God-”

He cuts himself off with a sharp cry as he gets some of it in, eyes rolling back a little. He clutches Foggy's shirt tighter, still held against his face, inhaling deeply until it's all he can smell. It's so much, and he sobs into the shirt as the knot finally goes in.

He pauses, face buried in the shirt, tears rolling down his cheeks. He's so full, God he's so full, and he feels perfect. He almost feels like he's not even in his body anymore, ascending on the tidal wave of pleasure. He thrusts the knot, very very slightly, and lets out a muffled scream, arching up. It feels so good that he can't even really process it.

With shaking fingers, he takes off the cock ring. He immediately presses Foggy's shirt to his face again, and with one good, hard thrust on the dildo as he inhales from the shirt, he's coming, screaming a little. He's incoherent, switching between crying out and trying to gasp out Foggy's name, come spilling between his legs in both directions. He clenches around the dildo, and he bites down on Foggy's shirt, stomach quivering. 

It takes a long while before he can pull the dildo out, and when he does, he hisses, tears still running down his face. The towel underneath him is soaked, as is the dildo. His stomach is covered in streaks of come, his face covered in drying tear tracks, and all he can smell is his own come and Foggy's shirt. His thighs are sticky, and he's covered in sweat, but God, he feels incredible.

The itch that had settled under his skin is gone, replaced by a pleasant thrumming of pleasure. Face flushed and breathless, Matt slowly pushes himself up into a sitting position, breathing ragged. He pushes sweaty hair back from his forehead, and stretches, his back popping pleasantly.

He takes a long, scalding hot shower, and falls into a freshly changed bed, and then he sleeps for the rest of the weekend.

+

Foggy and Marci don't work out. Matt hates how relieved he is, because Foggy is pretty torn up over it. He knows he really liked her, and there is actually a considerable part of him that feels bad, because for as much as he and Marci butted heads, she made Foggy happy.

They both get roaring drunk, and it's good. Matt forgets how desperately he's pining over Foggy, and Foggy forgets to cry about Marci for a little while. They both need it, and it shows. They fall into Matt's bed tangled together, sloppy-drunk and chilly from the last dredges of winter trying to push itself through before spring, and fall asleep wrapped around each other. 

Really, it's a good night for both of them.

It takes time, and a few more drunken nights, but Foggy slowly gets over Marci. Again, Matt hates himself for being so relieved. He talks about it every week when he goes to confession, and the Father makes him pray and pray and pray. Like he hasn't been doing that, anyway- but he does as he's told. Unfortunately, no number of Hail Marys and Our Fathers can take away the rush of heat under his skin when he smells Foggy, or the way he wants to growl when anyone else gets too close to him. But it's as good as he's getting, so Matt's rosary gets polished nice and shiny by his sinful, shaking fingers. 

The things we do for love, as that old saying goes.

As time goes on, Foggy finally decides to get back in the game, effectively working Matt's nerves. And then, it all comes to a very pointed, obvious head, and if Matt was fucked before, now he's _really_ fucked, because there is no talking his way out of this one.

He doesn't mean it, honest. He's been so good about controlling his ridiculous behavior, reining it in whenever he wants to overreact around Foggy. He hasn't had any public outbursts, and he keeps the low growling under his breath to a minimum. Really, he's been good. 

But fuck that, right? Matt has a few choice words for God and His truly awful sense of humor. He'll say as many Hail Marys as he needs to in order to absolve himself of the sin he's going to rack up by giving God a piece of his damn mind, but he'll take it. Because this? This so many kinds of bad Matt thinks he'd need more than two hands to count it.

They're in a coffee shop. It's right on the edge of campus, bursting with students. He and Foggy have picked a nice little corner table for themselves, and have spent the last hour sipping at their cooling lattes and going over materials for their Child and Family Law course. It's nice, and normal, and Matt feels good. The coffee's good, the place isn't too loud, and he's feeling confident about their upcoming exam. 

A guy walks over and says hi to Foggy- it's obviously someone he knows, because he greets him cheerfully. His name is Eric, and he seems nice. He's an omega- Matt can smell it on him. The hair on the back of his neck stands up, and he's already on the defensive. He clenches his fists hard under the table, trying to settle down. Someone can't even say hi to Foggy now? He's getting ridiculous.

“Hey... do you maybe... wanna do something this weekend?” Eric asks shyly. “Maybe grab some dinner or something?”

He's blushing, Matt can tell, and nervous, too. But he's even more nervous, because Matt is standing in his face, and growling, and when did he do that? Oh god, he's _growling_. It's low and harsh, on the edge of a snarl. His arms are slightly behind him, as if shielding Foggy, and Eric's eyes are wide.

“Shit, I'm sorry man- I didn't know you had a mate,” he says, voice a little shaky.

“Uh... neither did I,” Foggy says.

Matt snaps right back into reality as Foggy speaks, and he's instantly red, horrified. 

“Oh... oh God, I- shit, um, I just....”

He grabs his cane and makes his way towards the door, and he can feel people staring at him as he goes. He hears Foggy swearing, apologizing to Eric, and gathering their things all at once- but he can't focus on that right now, because he's so embarrassed that he can't breathe. And good, wonderful, he can't breathe, and he's starting to have a panic attack. He's not even sure where he's going- but his cane hits a bench and he collapses onto it, shoulders shaking as he tries to rake air into his lungs. 

The cat's definitely out of the bag, now.

He sits there for an undetermined amount of time, talking himself into breathing again. He's actually startled when Foggy catches up to him, winded. His head snaps up and his breathing stutters again, but he's really trying to hold himself together. 

“Let's get you back to the room,” Foggy says, and his voice is soft.

Matt nods and allows himself to be led back to their room in a daze. The trek across campus is a bit of a blur, if he's honest, and when they step into their room, he blinks, a little startled that he's there. Foggy sets down their things on his desk, and then he's in Matt's space.

He comes to, then, Foggy's smell filling his nostrils.

“Matt, what the hell was that back there?” His voice is sharp, cutting through the silence. Matt swallows. “In case you didn't notice, we're not bonded, buddy. Territorial displays are kind of not cool. They're a bit off-limits, actually. What was that?”

“I...” He swallows. “Um.”

Foggy sighs. “I just... that's... Matt, are you okay? Because you've never done that sort of thing before, and while I respect that you want to like, defend my honor or whatever as my best friend, it's really not necessary.”

Matt is very much uncomfortable. He twists his hands around, licking his lips. 

“I...” He swallows again, hard. He's glad, for once, that he can't make eye contact with Foggy. “I'm sorry. I don't know what happened back there. Really.”

“I'm calling bullshit on this one, Murdock.”

“Fair enough, I suppose. You've always been pretty good at calling out my lies.”

He's a little calmer, now, and slides his coat off, tossing it in the direction of his chair. He faces Foggy, then, and takes a deep breath. Within seconds, Foggy's in his space, and he's so close Matt can taste him. He gulps.

“I think we both know what's going on here, Matt.”

“D-do we?” It comes out as a bit of a squeak.

Foggy's hand lands on the wall next to his head. “Do you think I don't notice when you come in smelling like someone else?” Foggy say suddenly, voice low. “When you stumble into the room in the morning, your clothes rumpled to hell, the smell of some other person all over you? You think I don't know when you've been fucking someone?”

Matt can't breathe.

“I can _smell_ it on you, Matt, and it drives me crazy. Did you know that? Do you even know what you do to me? And fuck, I've been trying to fight it off, but you... you just don't give up, do you? And then this. You bare your teeth and fend off someone flirting with me like you're my mate, and Matt.... I wasn't angry. I'm not angry. I loved it, and that scared me. Because that is exactly what I want to do when I smell someone else on you, when someone flirts with you.

Don't tell me you don't feel this, Matty. There's something between us, and I can't let it go. Tell me you feel it too. Tell me this isn't just some sick fantasy I'm going to wake up from any minute.”

“God,” Matt gasps. “Foggy, God, I-” He takes a deep breath, unsteady. “I want you so bad,” he says, and his voice comes out breathless, on the edge of a whine. “Every time I smell someone else on your clothes I want to burn them. I wanted to drag Marci out of the room by her throat. I don't want anyone near you, Foggy, God. You're all I think about, and I don't want you with anyone else. You're mine, fuck- you're _mine_ , and I don't want to share you.”

Foggy growls, low in his throat, and it goes straight to Matt's cock. He can feel himself getting slick, too, and he shudders.

“Kiss me,” he gasps. “Foggy, I want you, please, don't make me wait anymore-”

Foggy wastes no time, crushing their mouths together. Matt reaches for him, tangles his fingers in Foggy's hair, and he whimpers. Foggy growls again, into his mouth, and Matt's knees feel weak. It's explosive, his lips instantly parting, Foggy's tongue sweeping into his mouth like he owns it.

He crowds Matt against the wall, a thigh between his knees, and Matt whines in his throat, high-pitched and needy. He grinds a little into Foggy's thigh, moaning, and Foggy hums.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Matty, fuck, fuck, baby-”

“I've been thinking about this for so long,” Matt gasps as Foggy kisses along his throat. “I think about you all the time, Foggy- I want you so bad, you have no idea.”

Foggy growls, again, and Matt whimpers. He's being taken from the wall, Foggy's hands on his waist, and he falls backwards onto his bed, Foggy falling on top of him. Their mouths come back together, and Matt is touching Foggy wherever he can land his hands, whimpering the entire time. 

“Matty, I want-”

“Yes,” he gasps. “Whatever you want, yes, God- Foggy, please fuck me, I've been dreaming about it-”

Foggy makes a truly animal noise, and their clothes are coming off now, being tossed every which way. Matt doesn't care how it happens, so long as it comes off. And it does- he's naked in record time, breathless and flushed, his thighs sticky and cock hard and flushed. 

“God, you're so beautiful,” Foggy says. “Look at you. All for me.”

“All for you,” Matt says, in a bit of a daze. “All for you, Foggy, there's no one else.”

“Good,” he says, low and husky.

He licks a stripe up Matt's neck, and he gasps, clinging to Foggy's shoulders. Foggy buries his face in Matt's neck and inhales, shuddering, and Matt gasps loudly, eyes wide.

“You smell so good,” Foggy says. “You're gonna smell like me when I'm done with you.”

“God, yes,” Matt says, trembling. “Please.”

Foggy's hand goes between Matt's legs, and he whines, tears gathered in his eyes.

“Christ, you're soaked,” Foggy says. “You always get this wet for me, Matty?”

“Yes,” he whimpers. “All the time, Foggy, all the time, you make me so wet.”

“Jesus,” he whispers. 

He slides a finger in and Matt keens. It goes in easy, and Foggy makes a soft noise of content. He starts thrusting it, and Matt is whimpering, making high-pitched noises in his throat. He's wanted this so badly- all he's been thinking of for months, every time he smelled Foggy, every time he touched himself, was this.

Foggy's fingering him in earnest, now, and before long, he has two fingers in, Matt moaning and pushing his hips back into it, spread out on his bed. Foggy's breathing heavily, and all Matt can smell is sex, and alpha, and his head is spinning with it.

“God, look at you,” Foggy says. “Can't believe I could've had this sooner... Jesus, Matty, you're choking for it.”

“Foggy, I want you to fuck me,” he gasps. “Please, I need it, I've been waiting for it, please.”

“God, yeah. Yeah, Matty, of course.”

He pauses for a moment, fingers stilling, and Matt whines. 

“You're on birth control, right?”

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, all of it, just fuck me Foggy, Christ.”

Foggy laughs and kisses Matt, deep and dirty, shutting him up. He takes his time, licking into Matt's mouth, sucking on his tongue, biting his lips. When he finally pulls away, he takes Matt's breath with him. His chest is heaving, face red. 

Foggy finally positions himself, and Matt cries out as he feels the head of Foggy's cock brush his entrance. Tears slip down his cheeks and onto the pillow, and when Foggy finally pushes in, he makes a truly obscene noise. He eases his way in, though Matt is slick and taking him like a charm, moaning softly.

“You feel amazing, baby,” he says softly. “So slick and hot, God, Matty.”

He kisses Matt's neck as he starts thrusting, trailing his tongue and teeth across the sensitive skin of his throat. Matt is immediately overwhelmed, Foggy's cock solid and hot inside of him, filling him in just the right way. He's panting, and crying, and they've barely gotten started. Foggy sets up a good rhythm, the bed squeaking obnoxiously beneath them, but they're both past caring. 

Foggy kisses him all over his face and neck, across his collarbone, his jaw. He whispers a steady stream of praise, telling Matt he's beautiful, he's good, he feels amazing.

Matt is crying and whining, raking his nails down Foggy's back. He hooks his legs around Foggy's hips, trying to drive him in deeper, and whines low in his throat.

“Harder,” he gasps. “Please, Foggy, I want it, harder.”

“Anything you want, Matty,” he pants. “Anything, yeah.”

He adjusts, sitting up a little, on his knees. He grabs Matt's legs and throws them over his shoulders, nearly bending Matt in half, and gets back to it. Matt claws at the sheets, a choked-off scream leaving his throat. The angle is good- perfect- and Foggy's really getting into it, now, grunting a little as he thrusts. 

“Fuck, Foggy, yes,” Matt groans out. “Yes, yes, yes, please, _yes_.”

“God, you take it so good for me, Matty, look at you,” Foggy growls. “You take my cock like you were made for it, fucking hell, look at you.”

“I was,” he whines. “God, yes, Foggy.”

He's earnestly sobbing now, breath hitching as he moans, knuckles white in the sheets. Foggy is merciless, pounding into him, and Matt can barely move, paralyzed with the pleasure of it, the overbearing right-ness of it. All he can smell is Foggy, and his mouth is watering, a small line of drool escaping down his chin as he takes it.

“You're _mine_ ,” Foggy growls, voice low and husky. “You're mine, Matty, no one else can have you. No one else gets to touch you, gets to fuck you, gets to fill you up like me.”

“No, no, nobody,” he cries. “I'm all yours, Foggy, I'm yours- wanna be yours, want you to fuck me, wanna have your baby...”

Foggy moans, low and guttural, and increases the pace again. Matt's stomach is quivering, and he's still sobbing, shaking with it. 

“Knot me,” Matt moans, voice catching on a sob. “Please, Foggy, please, I want it, I want to be yours.”

“I will,” Foggy says, voice low. “Gonna fill you up til you're bursting, Matty, fuck.”

“Please,” he sobs, “please, please, please.”

Foggy is pounding into him, the bed rocking violently, and he's sobbing, and before he knows it, he feels Foggy's knot swelling inside of him. He's crying out, saying something incoherent about babies and being Foggy's, but he doesn't even know what he's saying, he's so far gone on the pleasure. 

He's coming, then, and it's an explosion for his senses. He screams hoarsely, squirming, and his thighs are sticky, his stomach painted with come. He sobs harder, and Foggy's moaning in his ear, and then he's coming, too, hot and wet inside of Matt. They cling to each other, Matt sobbing, as Foggy rides out his orgasm, panting.

He slowly eases Matt's legs back down, and they lie together, Foggy on top of him, breathing heavily. They stay still for a moment, breathless and covered in sweat and come, Foggy's hands running over Matt's trembling body. 

“God,” Foggy gasps. “I... wow.”

“Yeah,” Matt croaks. “Yeah. Wow.”

Foggy laughs slightly, soft and a little hoarse. He wraps Matt up in his arms, and Matt buries his face in his neck, breathing in his scent deeply. 

It takes a little while for Foggy's knot to go down, and he finally slowly pulls out, both of them wincing a little. He grabs a random shirt off the floor to clean them up with, and gets back on the bed, bringing Matt back into his arms. The bed is narrow, and much too small for two grown men, but they make it work, if only barely.

Matt's body is humming with pleasure, everything warm and tingly. He buried his face in Foggy's neck, smelling his skin and hair and feeling a sense of right. Foggy runs his hands across his sides, humming softly. 

“My Matty,” he whispers.

And, well. That feels more right than anything else.

+

It seems, then, that everything falls into place. Matt is Foggy's, and Foggy is Matt's, and now no one flirts with Foggy anymore. Matt can curl up in Foggy's lap anytime he wants, he can kiss him whenever he wants... it's ideal, really. It seems as if it was always this way- as if they always held hands when they walked, as if Matt has always sat curled in Foggy's lap when they study in their room together. It feels completely and utterly right, like the final piece of a puzzle finally put into its place.

They push their beds together, and Matt spends his night curled around Foggy, head tucked under his chin with his nose to his throat, breathing in his favorite scent in the world. His Foggy, his alpha. There is something so deeply right about all of this. It puts Matt at ease. 

For two weeks, they talk about a bond.

A bond is a serious commitment. It ties them together in a way that nothing else can or will. They both know this, but they go over it a lot over the next two weeks, because this is pretty serious. Of course, Matt has no doubt in his mind that Foggy is it for him, and he tells him this.

“I don't want anyone else,” he says, and his voice is soft, but savage, edged with his seriousness. “I will never want anyone else again, Foggy, you have to know that. I want to be everything for you. Always. I don't want anyone else to be by your side- I want to be the only one by your side, for the rest of our lives. You're it for me. You... you have to know that by now.”

“Matty...” He swallows. “God, yeah, Matty, yes. You... you're it here, buddy. You are it. I never... I've never met anyone like you, Matt. And I know, have known, from the start, that I never will. This thing we have, you and me? There's nothing else like it. I'm not getting it anywhere else. I don't want to get it anywhere else. I'm in this, Matt. I'm in this with you- until the very end. For better or for worse.”

Matt gives a watery smile, tears in his eyes. “Sounds like wedding vows.”

“This is much deeper than some rings and shared taxes, buddy,” Foggy says. “But yeah. I'm committed to you, Murdock. And I want this. I want you. Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes.”

Foggy takes Matt's face in his hands and kisses him, then, and it's deep and sweet and makes his head spin. Matt clings to him, kissing Foggy like he's drowning. This.. this is it. He knows that. Perhaps he has known, from the very start, that Foggy was where he would end. Or was it begin?

Either way, the story goes with them together.

+

It's warm, and the air smells like sweat and air-conditioning, but beyond that, it smells like grass and blossoming trees. Matt can hear the crickets, the late night birds, the parties going on around campus. It's gearing towards the end of the semester, and the weather is good, and the campus seems to be in high spirits.

But that doesn't matter to him right now.

Matt is trembling, lips swollen and parted around soft gasps, his hair curling from the heat, stray strands stuck to his neck and forehead. He's flushed, and Foggy is buried to the hilt in him, groaning and sweating, his knot filling Matt to the brim.

He's going slow, peppering Matt's sweaty, flushed face with kisses as he thrusts sweetly into him, the mattress squeaking in protest beneath them. The scents of the early summer are blocked out by the smell of their sex, heavy and thick in the air. Matt's arms are around Foggy's neck, fingers tangled in the long strands of his hair, legs wrapped around his waist. Foggy's hands are on Matt's shoulders, his face, just sort of touching where he can. 

It's nowhere near as desperate as that fateful first time. It's slow, and tender, and has purpose. Matt's lost to the haze of sensation, lashes fluttering, and Foggy is equally gone, from what he can tell.

“I love you,” he gasps. “Foggy, God, I love you so much...”

“I know Matty,” he soothes. “I know. I love you too, I love you.”

“Do it,” he says, voice shaking. “Do it now, I want you to do it.”

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay, of course.”

He kisses Matt deeply, and when they part, their breathing is ragged, hitched. Matt moves his hands up a little, cradling Foggy's head, fingers still tangled up in his hair. He takes a deep breath.

And Foggy bites down.

It starts off with pain, but quickly transcends into something much more indescribable. It's part pain, part pleasure, part something... he doesn't even know what. But he's keening, making a high, throaty noise that he never knew he was capable of making before. He pulls Foggy's hair, arching up, his head spinning. Foggy is making soothing noises, and Matt can smell the blood when he finally pulls away. He laves his tongue across the wound, and Matt whimpers, shaking. 

Something seems to shift. Matt is much, much more hyperaware of Foggy. He senses his distress, his pleasure, and not because he can hear his heart or smell his pheromones. It's something he just... feels. He had no idea the change would be so immediate, and he's reeling from it. He whimpers again, softly, and Foggy makes soothing, soft noises, stroking his face and hair.

“Shhh, it's okay, Matty,” he whispers. “It's okay, I'm right here. It's over, I've got you. Shh.”

“F-foggy,” he whispers. “Foggy, I can _feel_ you.”

He senses Foggy's elation, and he finds himself grinning, the feeling passing through him, as well. Foggy kisses his forehead, his cheeks, nose, chin, laughing softly.

“It's real now,” he says, voice bright with his happiness. “We did it, Matty- we're bonded now. No take-backs on this one, buddy.”

Matt laughs.

“Kind of signed up for it.”

“Yeah, we kind of did, didn't we?”

“I wouldn't have it any other way.”

+

It's a strange and beautiful thing, to be bonded. Everything Matt feels towards Foggy seems much more focused and intense. For the first few days, it's overwhelming. But Matt quickly adjusts to it, and it feels like it was always this way. On top of what he can discern from scents and heartbeats, he can now actually glean some of Foggy's emotions. Foggy can do the same, and they're connected on a level Matt never dreamed of before.

Foggy tells his parents a week later, and that weekend they're rushed off to his parents' house, where they're cooed at and fussed over, and everyone collects on the bets they apparently had running for the last three years. It's a little weird to Matt, but very endearing. Mr. and Mrs. Nelson embrace Matt tightly and earnestly tell him that he's part of the family now. 

“I've always considered you one of us,” Mrs. Nelson says tenderly, “but this just makes it much more official.” She gently pats his cheek. “Oh, Matthew, I'm so happy for you. You make my boy happy, you know. I've never seen Frankie glow quite so brightly.”

And, well, if that just doesn't put the icing on the cake.

They also talk of having an official bonding ceremony, and Matt is flustered and blushing through the whole affair. It's traditional for couples to have a bonding ceremony- it's very similar to a wedding, but signifies something much greater. Mrs. Nelson talks about suits and flowers and fairy lights, and Foggy is really into it. He's a bit of a romantic, and Matt finds it really, really cute. Perhaps he'll suffer through the attention, if Foggy really wants it, which he seems to. Just another thing he would easily give into for his mate, for the man he loves.

Foggy is his _mate_. He always gets a thrill when he thinks about that- when he touches his bond mark, when he smells Foggy, when he hears his laugh. They're bonded. They're in it for the long haul, for better or for worse, and it's... well, it's much more than Matt ever thought he'd have.

He'd given up hope on a real family when his father died. When Stick left, it twisted the knife, and for a very long time, Matt thought he wouldn't have anyone else. It was always a little difficult for him to make friends, because it had become hard for him to open up, to allow himself to enjoy the simpler things. But Foggy Nelson crashed into his life and changed all of that in an instant. 

He's happy. Genuinely, truly. It's a little strange, a little hard to get used to, but every day he thanks God for whatever he managed to do to get this right. Every morning when he wakes up in Foggy's arms, when he hears his voice and feels his lips on his bond mark, everything seems to make sense. He feels good, and whole, and it's more than he ever imagined. 

So yeah, he'll do a bonding ceremony. He'll suffer through flowers and attention and braving the overwhelming presence of the Nelson clan for a day, because in exchange, he gets a lifetime of Foggy, his mate, his best friend, the love of his life.

It's a fair trade in his book.


End file.
